Falcon Spirit—part one

Hey everyone! Here is another nano-story! This time, the story had to be from an animal's perspective. Please read!

I flew over the plains of Shamir, studying everyone on the bottom. They were fighting—again.

I was Chayton, a falcon—to be more exact, my master’s falcon. My master was chief over his people, the Illinians. His people followed him, and obeyed him, for he was the greatest thing to ever happen to the tribe.

We had come from a faraway land—somewhere I cannot tell you, for it is paradise as long as it is kept secret.

We had lived without any trouble for the past two years—we had food, water, and no quarrels in the people.

But disaster was looming over us like a cloud looms over the ground. People had been disappearing, and other people were beginning to start fights with another over no reason at all. And suddenly, a few weeks ago, a new group of people had come across us. They outnumbered us, but were poorer. My master was afraid that we would eventually stat a war with them.

And his prediction, as it turned out, was correct.

A few weeks later, the chief of the other group, the Malisons, declared war on us, claiming that we had more than enough supplies, but weren’t willing to share with them, the poorer tribe.

That, in truth, was incorrect. The Illinians might have lived in prosperity, but only with enough supplies for us. If we did have more supplies, we would be more than willing to share with them. But the Malisons’ chief was blind to the truth because of a jealousy he had toward us.

Because the Malisons’ chief was my master’s half brother. And for all his life, he had been jealous of his older brother.

And so, as I was in the sky, I was observing yet another fight the two groups were having.

But then something caught my eye.

My master was fighting…against his half brother. And it seemed, to me, that my master was losing.

How I detested war.

I let out a cry from the skies and flew down to the ground where I could hopefully be some help to my master.

Then, the Malisons’ chief tripped my master, and stabbed him in the chest with a bow. My master looked up at me, telling me with his eyes, to get far away from here.

As much as I wanted to disobey, I couldn’t. Forever bound to him by a old spell, I flew away from him and the war.

I stayed in a cave a few miles north for a few days before finally deciding to go back.

I flew far overhead, so that anyone on the ground would mistake me for a mere speck.

And when I finally arrived at the battle scene, it shocked me. No dead bodies, but it seemed as if it were abandoned.

I landed and hopped to where I saw my master get stabbed. He wasn’t there. But something else was.

An arrow, faintly drawn into the dirt, pointing east. That’s where my master and, possibly, his people were. And where I would go, in search of him, whether or not it ended up in my death.

Did you like it?

Please review!

And because of the ending, I might write a sequal. Thanks for reading! And sorry if it was kind of confusing!

Midnight-Wolfe